OTHELLO

Brabantio, the rich senator of Venice, had a fair daughter, the gentle

Desdemona. She was sought to by divers suitors, both on account of her

many virtuous qualities, and for her rich expectations. But among the

suitors of her own clime and complexion, she saw none whom she could

affect: for this noble lady, who regarded the mind more than the

features of men, with a singularity rather to be admired than imitated,

had chosen for the object of her affections, a Moor, a black, whom her

father loved, and often invited to his house.

Neither is Desdemona to be altogether condemned for the unsuitableness

of the person whom she selected for her lover. Bating that Othello was

black, the noble Moor wanted nothing which might recommend him to the

affections of the greatest lady. He was a soldier, and a brave one; and

by his conduct in bloody wars against the Turks, had risen to the rank

of general in the Venetian service, and was esteemed and trusted by the

state.

He had been a traveller, and Desdemona (as is the manner of ladies)

loved to hear him tell the story of his adventures, which he would run

through from his earliest recollection; the battles, sieges, and

encounters, which he had passed through; the perils he had been exposed

to by land and by water; his hair-breadth escapes, when he had entered

a breach, or marched up to the mouth of a cannon; and how he had been

taken prisoner by the insolent enemy, and sold to slavery; how he

demeaned himself in that state, and how he escaped: all these accounts,

added to the narration of the strange things he had seen in foreign

countries, the vast wilderness and romantic caverns, the quarries, the

rocks and mountains, whose heads are in the clouds; of the savage

nations, the cannibals who are man-eaters, and a race of people in

Africa whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders: these travellers'

stories would so enchain the attention of Desdemona, that if she were

called off at any time by household affairs, she would despatch with

all haste that business, and return, and with a greedy ear devour

Othello's discourse. And once he took advantage of a pliant hour, and

drew from her a prayer, that he would tell her the whole story of his

life at large, of which she had heard so much, but only by parts: to

which he consented, and beguiled her of many a tear, when he spoke of

some distressful stroke which his youth had suffered.

His story being done, she gave him for his pains a world of sighs: she

swore a pretty oath, that it was all passing strange, and pitiful,

wondrous pitiful: she wished (she said) she had not heard it, yet she

wished that heaven had made her such a man; and then she thanked him,

and told him, if he had a friend who loved her, he had only to teach

him how to tell his story, and that would woo her. Upon this hint,

delivered not with more frankness than modesty, accompanied with

certain bewitching prettiness, and blushes, which Othello could not but

understand, he spoke more openly of his love, and in this golden

opportunity gained the consent of the generous lady Desdemona privately

to marry him.

Neither Othello's colour nor his fortune were such that it could be

hoped Brabantio would accept him for a con-in-law. He had left his

daughter free; but he did expect that, as the manner of noble Venetian

ladies was, she would choose ere long a husband of senatorial rank or

expectations; but in this he was deceived; Desdemona loved the Moor,

though he was black, and devoted her heart and fortunes to his valiant

parts and qualities; so was her heart subdued to an implicit devotion

to the man she had selected for a husband, that his very colour, which

to all but this discerning lady would have proved an insurmountable

objection, was by her esteemed above all the white skins and clear

complexions of the young Venetian nobility, her suitors.

Their marriage, which, though privately carried, could not long be kept

a secret, came to the ears of the old man, Brabantio, who appeared in a

solemn council of the senate, as an accuser of the Moor Othello, who by

spells and witchcraft (he maintained) had seduced the affections of the

fair Desdemona to marry him, without the consent of her father, and

against the obligations of hospitality.

At this juncture of time it happened that the state of Venice had

immediate need of the services of Othello, news having arrived that the

Turks with mighty preparation had fitted out a fleet, which was bending

its course to the island of Cyprus, with intent to regain that strong

post from the Venetians, who then held it; in this emergency the state

turned its eyes upon Othello, who alone was deemed adequate to conduct

the defence of Cyprus against the Turks. So that Othello, now summoned

before the senate, stood in their presence at once as a candidate for a

great state employment, and as a culprit, charged with offences which

by the laws of Venice were made capital.

The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio, commanded a most

patient hearing from that grave assembly; but the incensed father

conducted his accusation with so much intemperance, producing

likelihoods and allegations for proofs, that, when Othello was called

upon for his defence, he had only to relate a plain tale of the course

of his love; which he did with such an artless eloquence, recounting

the whole story of his wooing, as we have related it above, and

delivered his speech with so noble a plainness (the evidence of truth),

that the duke, who sat as chief judge, could not help confessing that a

tale so told would have won his daughter too: and the spells and

conjurations which Othello had used in his courtship, plainly appeared

to have been no more than the honest arts of men in love; and the only

witchcraft which he had used, the faculty of telling a soft tale to win

a lady's ear.

This statement of Othello was confirmed by the testimony of the lady

Desdemona herself, who appeared in court, and professing a duty to her

father for life and education, challenged leave of him to profess a yet

higher duty to her lord and husband, even so much as her mother had

shown in preferring him (Brabantio) above her father.

The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called the Moor to him

with many expressions of sorrow, and, as an act of necessity, bestowed

upon him his daughter, whom, if he had been free to withhold her (he

told him), he would with all his heart have kept from him; adding, that

he was glad at soul that he had no other child, for this behaviour of

Desdemona would have taught him to be a tyrant, and hang clogs on them

for her desertion.

This difficulty being got over. Othello, to whom custom had rendered

the hardships of a military life as natural as food and rest are to

other men, readily undertook the management of the wars in Cyprus: and

Desdemona, preferring the honour of her lord (though with danger)

before the indulgence of those idle delights in which new-married

people usually waste their time, cheerfully consented to his going.

No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in Cyprus, than news

arrived, that a desperate tempest had dispersed the Turkish fleet, and

thus the island was secure from any immediate apprehension of an

attack. But the war, which Othello was to suffer, was now beginning;

and the enemies, which malice stirred up against his innocent lady,

proved in their nature more deadly than strangers or infidels.

Among all the general's friends no one possessed the confidence of

Othello more entirely than Cassio. Michael Cassio was a young soldier,

a Florentine, gay, amorous, and of pleasing address, favourite

qualities with women; he was handsome and eloquent, and exactly such a

person as might alarm the jealousy of a man advanced in years (as

Othello in some measure was), who had married a young and beautiful

wife; but Othello was as free from jealousy as he was noble, and as

incapable of suspecting as of doing a base action. He had employed this

Cassio in his love affair with Desdemona, and Cassio had been a sort of

go-between in his suit: for Othello, fearing that himself had not those

soft parts of conversation which please ladies, and finding these

qualities in his friend, would often depute Cassio to go (as he phrased

it) a courting for him: such innocent simplicity being rather an honour

than a blemish to the character of the valiant Moor. So that no wonder,

if next to Othello himself (but at far distance, as beseems a virtuous

wife) the gentle Desdemona loved and trusted Cassio. Nor had the

marriage of this couple made any difference in their behaviour to

Michael Cassio. He frequented their house, and his free and rattling

talk was no unpleasing variety to Othello, who was himself of a more

serious temper: for such tempers are observed often to delight in their

contraries, as a relief from the oppressive excess of their own: and

Desdemona and Cassio would talk and laugh together, as in the days when

he went a courting for his friend.

Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the lieutenant, a place of

trust, and nearest to the general's person. This promotion gave great

offence to Iago, an older officer who thought he had a better claim

than Cassio, and would often ridicule Cassio as a fellow fit only for

the company of ladies, and one that knew no more of the art of war or

how to set an army in array for battle, than a girl. Iago hated Cassio,

and he hated Othello, as well for favouring Cassio, as for an unjust

suspicion, which he had lightly taken up against Othello that the Moor

was too fond of Iago's wife Emilia. From these imaginary provocations,

the plotting mind of Iago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which

should involve both Cassio, the Moor, and Desdemona, in one common ruin.

Iago was artful, and had studied human nature deeply, and he knew that

of all the torments which afflict the mind of man (and far beyond

bodily torture), the pains of jealousy were the most intolerable, and

had the sorest sting. If he could succeed in making Othello jealous of

Cassio, he thought it would be an exquisite plot of revenge, and might

end in the death of Cassio or Othello, or both; he cared not.

The arrival of the general and his lady, in Cyprus, meeting with the

news of the dispersion of the enemy's fleet, made a sort of holiday in

the island. Everybody gave themselves up to feasting and making merry.

Wine flowed in abundance, and cups went round to the health of the

black Othello, and his lady the fair Desdemona.

Cassio had the direction of the guard that night, with a charge from

Othello to keep the soldier from excess in drinking, that no brawl

might arise, to fright the inhabitants, or disgust them with the

new-landed forces. That night Iago began his deep-laid plans of

mischief: under colour of loyalty and love to the general, he enticed

Cassio to make rather too free with the bottle (a great fault in an

officer upon guard). Cassio for a time resisted, but he could not long

hold out against the honest freedom which Iago knew how to put on, but

kept swallowing glass after glass (as Iago still plied him with drink

and encouraging songs), and Cassio's tongue ran over in praise of the

lady Desdemona, whom he again and again toasted, affirming that she was

a most exquisite lady: until at last the enemy which he put into his

mouth stole away his brains; and upon some provocation given him by a

fellow whom Iago had set on, swords were drawn, and Montano, a worthy

officer, who interfered to appease the dispute, was wounded in the

scuffle. The riot now began to be general, and Iago, who had set on

foot the mischief, was foremost in spreading the alarm, causing the

castle-bell to be rung (as if some dangerous mutiny instead of a slight

drunken quarrel had arisen): the alarm-bell ringing awakened Othello,

who, dressing in a hurry, and coming to the scene of action, questioned

Cassio of the cause. Cassio was now come to himself, the effect of the

wine having a little gone off, but was too much ashamed to reply; and

Iago, pretending a great reluctance to accuse Cassio, but, as it were,

forced into it by Othello, who insisted to know the truth, gave an

account of the whole matter (leaving out his own share in it, which

Cassio was too far gone to remember) in such a manner, as while he

seemed to make Cassio's offence less, did indeed make it appear greater

than it was. The result was, that Othello, who was a strict observer of

discipline, was compelled to take away Cassio's place of lieutenant

from him.

Thus did Iago's first artifice succeed completely; he had now

undermined his hated rival, and thrust him out of his place: but a

further use was hereafter to be made of the adventure of this

disastrous night.

Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered, now lamented to his

seeming friend Iago that he should have been such a fool as to

transform himself into a beast. He was undone, for how could he ask the

general for his place again? he would tell him he was a drunkard. He

despised himself. Iago, affecting to make light of it, said, that he,

or any man living, might be drunk upon occasion; it remained now to

make the best of a bad bargain; the general's wife was now the general,

and could do anything with Othello; that he were best to apply to the

lady Desdemona to mediate for him with her lord; that she was of a

frank, obliging disposition, and would readily undertake a good office

of this sort, and set Cassio right again in the general's favour; and

then this crack in their love would be made stronger than ever. A good

advice of Iago, if it had not been given for wicked purposes, which

will after appear.

Cassio did as Iago advised him, and made application to the lady

Desdemona, who was easy to be won over in any honest suit; and she

promised Cassio that she should be his solicitor with her lord, and

rather die than give up his cause. This she immediately set about in so

earnest and pretty a manner, that Othello, who was mortally offended

with Cassio, could not put her off. When he pleaded delay, and that it

was too soon to pardon such an offender, she would not be beat back,

but insisted that it should be the next night, or the morning after, or

the next morning to that at farthest. Then she showed how penitent and

humbled poor Cassio was, and that his offence did not deserve so sharp

a check. And when Othello still hung back: 'What! my lord,' said she,

'that I should have so much to do to plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio,

that came a courting for you, and oftentimes, when I have spoken in

dispraise of you, has taken your part! I count this but a little thing

to ask of you. When I mean to try your love indeed, I shall ask a

weighty matter.' Othello could deny nothing to such a pleader, and only

requesting that Desdemona would leave the time to him, promised to

receive Michael Cassio again in favour.

It happened that Othello and Iago had entered into the room where

Desdemona was, just as Cassio, who had been imploring her intercession,

was departing at the opposite door: and Iago, who was full of art, said

in a low voice, as if to himself: 'I like not that.' Othello took no

great notice of what he said; indeed, the conference which immediately

took place with his lady put it out of his head; but he remembered it

afterwards. For when Desdemona was gone, Iago, as if for mere

satisfaction of his thought, questioned Othello whether Michael Cassio,

when Othello was courting his lady, knew of his love. To this the

general answering in the affirmative, and adding, that he had gone

between them very often during the courtship, Iago knitted his brow, as

if he had got fresh light on some terrible matter, and cried: 'Indeed!'

This brought into Othello's mind the words which Iago had let fall upon

entering the room, and seeing Cassio with Desdemona; and he began to

think there was some meaning in all this: for he deemed Iago to be a

just man, and full of love and honesty, and what in a false knave would

be tricks, in him seemed to be the natural workings of an honest mind,

big with something too great for utterance: and Othello prayed Iago to

speak what he knew, and to give his worst thoughts words. 'And what,'

said Iago, 'if some thoughts very vile should have intruded into my

breast, as where is the palace into which foul things do not enter?'

Then Iago went on to say, what a pity it were, if any trouble should

arise to Othello out of his imperfect observations; that it would not

be for Othello's peace to know his thoughts; that people's good names

were not to be taken away for slight suspicions; and when Othello's

curiosity was raised almost to distraction with these hints and

scattered words, Iago, as if in earnest care for Othello's peace of

mind, besought him to beware of jealousy: with such art did this

villain raise suspicions in the unguarded Othello, by the very caution

which he pretended to give him against suspicion. 'I know,' said

Othello, 'that my wife is fair, loves company and feasting, is free of

speech, sings, plays, and dances well: but where virtue is, these

qualities are virtuous. I must have proof before I think her

dishonest.' Then Iago, as if glad that Othello was slow to believe ill

of his lady, frankly declared that he had no proof, but begged Othello

to observe her behaviour well, when Cassio was by; not to be jealous

nor too secure neither, for that he (Iago) knew the dispositions of the

Italian ladies, his countrywomen, better than Othello could do; and

that in Venice the wives let heaven see many pranks they dared not show

their husbands. Then he artfully insinuated that Desdemona deceived her

father in marrying with Othello, and carried it so closely, that the

poor old man thought that witchcraft had been used. Othello was much

moved with this argument, which brought the matter home to him, for if

she had deceived her father, why might she not deceive her husband?

Iago begged pardon for having moved him; but Othello, assuming an

indifference, while he was really shaken with inward grief at Iago's

words, begged him to go on, which Iago did with many apologies, as if

unwilling to produce anything against Cassio, whom he called his

friend: he then came strongly to the point, and reminded Othello how

Desdemona had refused many suitable matches of her own clime and

complexion, and had married him, a Moor, which showed unnatural in her,

and proved her to have a headstrong will; and when her better judgment

returned, how probable it was she should fall upon comparing Othello

with the fine forms and clear white complexions of the young Italians

her countrymen. He concluded with advising Othello to put off his

reconcilement with Cassio a little longer, and in the meanwhile to note

with what earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his behalf; for

that much would be seen in that. So mischievously did this artful

villain lay his plots to turn the gentle qualities of this innocent

lady into her destruction, and make a net for her out of her own

goodness to entrap her: first setting Cassio on to entreat her

mediation, and then out of that very mediation contriving stratagems

for her ruin.

The conference ended with Iago's begging Othello to account his wife

innocent, until he had more decisive proof; and Othello promised to be

patient; but from that moment the deceived Othello never tasted content

of mind. Poppy, nor the juice of mandragora, nor all the sleeping

potions in the world, could ever again restore to him that sweet rest,

which he had enjoyed but yesterday. His occupation sickened upon him.

He no longer took delight in arms. His heart, that used to be roused at

the sight of troops, and banners, and battle-array, and would stir and

leap at the sound of a drum, or a trumpet, or a neighing war-horse,

seemed to have lost all that pride and ambition which are a soldier's

virtue; and his military ardour and all his old joys forsook him.

Sometimes he thought his wife honest, and at times he thought her not

so; sometimes he thought Iago just, and at times he thought him not so;

then he would wish that he had never known of it; he was not the worse

for her loving Cassio, so long as he knew it not: torn to pieces with

these distracting thoughts, he once laid hold on Iago's throat, and

demanded proof of Desdemona's guilt, or threatened instant death for

his having belied her. Iago, feigning indignation that his honesty

should be taken for a vice, asked Othello, if he had not sometimes seen

a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in his wife's hand. Othello

answered, that he had given her such a one, and that it was his first

gift. 'That same handkerchief,' said Iago, 'did I see Michael Cassio

this day wipe his face with.' 'If it be as you say,' said Othello, 'I

will not rest till a wide revenge swallow them up: and first, for a

token of your fidelity, I expect that Cassio shall be put to death

within three days; and for that fair devil (meaning his lady), I will

withdraw and devise some swift means of death for her.'

Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as strong as holy writ.

A handkerchief of his wife's seen in Cassio's hand, was motive enough

to the deluded Othello to pass sentence of death upon them both.

without once inquiring how Cassio came by it. Desdemona had never given

such a present to Cassio, nor would this constant lady have wronged her

lord with doing so naughty a thing as giving his presents to another

man; both Cassio and Desdemona were innocent of any offence against

Othello: but the wicked Iago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance

of villainy, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this

handkerchief from Desdemona, under presence of getting the work copied,

but in reality to drop it in Cassio's way, where he might find it, and

give a handle to Iago's suggestion that it was Desdemona's present.

Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he had a headache

(as he might indeed with truth), and desired her to lend him her

handkerchief to hold to his temples. She did so. 'Not this,' said

Othello, 'but that handkerchief I gave you.' Desdemona had it not about

her (for indeed it was stolen, as we have related). 'How?' said

Othello, 'this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief an Egyptian woman

gave to my mother; the woman was a witch and could read people's

thoughts: she told my mother, while she kept it, it would make her

amiable, and my father would love her; but, if she lost it, or gave it

away, my father's fancy would turn, and he would loathe her as much as

he had loved her. She dying gave it to me, and bade me, if I ever

married, to give it to my wife. I did so; take heed of it. Make it a

darling as precious as your eye.' 'It is possible?' said the frighted

lady. 'Tis true,' continued Othello 'it is a magical handkerchief; a

sibyl that had lived in the world two hundred years, in a fit of

prophetic fury worked it; the silkworms that furnished the silk were

hallowed, and it was dyed in a mummy of maidens' hearts conserved.'

Desdemona, hearing the wondrous virtues of the handkerchief, was ready

to die with fear, for she plainly perceived she had lost it, and with

it, she feared, the affections of her husband. Then Othello started,

and looked as if he were going to do some rash thing, and still he

demanded the handkerchief, which when she could not produce, she tried

to divert her husband from too serious thoughts, and cheerfully told

him she saw all his talk about the handkerchief was only to put her off

from her suit about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as Iago

had foretold), till Othello in perfect distraction burst out of the

room, and then Desdemona, though unwillingly, began to suspect that her

lord was jealous.

What cause she could have ministered to him she knew not, and then she

accused herself for accusing the noble Othello, and thought to be sure

that some untoward news from Venice, or some state troubles had puddled

his spirits, and made his temper not so sweet as formerly. And she

said: 'Men are not gods, and we must not look for that observance from

them when they are married, which they show us on the bridal day.' And

she beshrewed herself for so unkindly judging of his unkindness.

Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he accused her more plainly of

being unfaithful, and of loving another man, but he did not name whom:

and Othello wept, and Desdemona said: 'Alas! the heavy day! why do you

weep?' And Othello told her, he could have borne all sorts of evils

with fortitude--poverty, and disease, and disgrace; but her infidelity

had broken his heart: and he called her a weed, that looked so fair,

and smelled so sweet, that the sense ached at it; and wished she had

never been born. And when he had left her, this innocent lady was so

stupefied with wonder at her lord's untrue suspicion of her, that a

weight-like sleep came over her, and she only desired her attendant to

make her bed, and to lay her wedding-sheets upon it, saying, that when

people teach their babes, they do it by gentle means and easy tasks,

and Othello might have chid her so; for in good faith she was but a

child when she was chidden. And this was all the complaint which this

gentle lady made.

Desdemona being retired to bed expecting her lord would follow her,

soon fell into a slumber, the effect of her troubled spirits, when

Othello entered the chamber, full of the black purpose which he had

meditated of putting his lady to death. But when he saw her asleep, he

thought he would not shed her blood, nor scar that white skin of hers,

more white than alabaster. But he was resolved she should die; else (as

he said) she would live to betray more men, as she had done him. Then

he kissed her for the last time (as he said), and that kiss was so

sweet, that he must needs kiss her again: and he wept, but he said they

were cruel tears.

Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and she looked upon Othello,

and she saw him gnaw his under lip, and roll his eyes, and she knew he

was always fatal when he looked so: and he bade her prepare for death,

and to say her prayers, for he would not kill her soul. And this

innocent wife, as she lay at his mercy, begged for compassion, and to

know her fault, and then he named Cassio, and the handkerchief which

(he said) she had given him; and as the guiltless lady was proceeding

to clear herself he suddenly would hear no more, but covering her up in

the bed-clothes, stifled her till she died.

In this instant of time was brought into the house Cassio, wounded and

bleeding, whom Iago had set one of his creatures on to assassinate; but

the fellow not succeeding in his attempt to kill Cassio (whom he

wounded, but not mortally), and being himself killed by Iago to prevent

discovery, in his pockets were found certain letters, which made the

guilt of Iago, and the innocence of Cassio, clear beyond all doubt; and

Cassio now came to beg pardon of Othello, and to ask wherein he had

offended him, that he had employed Iago to murder him.

This discovery was as thunderstroke to Othello, who now plainly saw

that he was no better than a murderer, and that his wife (poor innocent

lady) had been ever faithful to him; the extreme anguish of which

discovery making life insupportable, he fell upon his sword, and

throwing himself upon the body of his dear injured lady, expired.

These rash acts raised much passion of horror and amazement in the

bystanders, for Othello had borne a fair reputation, and till he was

wrought upon by the arts of a villain, which his own noble nature never

gave him leave to suspect, he was a loving and a doting husband. He had

loved not wisely, but too well; and his manly eyes (when he learned his

mistake), though not used to weep on every small occasion, dropped

tears as fast as the Arabian trees their gum. And when he was dead all

his former merits and his valiant acts were remembered. Nothing now

remained for his successor but to put the utmost censure of the law in

force against Iago, who was executed with strict tortures; and to send

word to the state of Venice of the lamentable death of their renowned

general.